The Last Party

1615 Words7 Pages
Ten pm rolled around and I turned the OneBox from ‘entertainment’ to ‘light’ in preparation for bed. I wheeled to the sink and nestled my chair into the puddle. Water fought its way out the tap whilst I stared into the mirror. The same fraction of a second repeated over and over. Suddenly, I caught up with time and realised I’d zoned out again. I had to bring it up with Mr Fielding at our next appointment. After brushing my teeth I clambered into bed. “OneBox: off.” The bright screen died. The room captured the blackness, and I fell asleep. That night I dreamt of Bangolai. I wrapped my mashed up leg in bed sheets and dragged myself into the corner of the bunker. Bullets pelted everything outside, the rattle of metal on concrete muffled over the bangs and screams. My leg was like unravelled rope, letting blood out to soak through my DIY bandage. It felt like an eternity, flitting between the door and a fallen wall with a pistol in my hands. All the other bunks were empty except Behlon’s. A bullet had burnt a hole through his skull. It smelt like burnt porridge and nearly made me sick. A Bangolian ran through the hole into the room and I squeezed the trigger twice. The run became a fall and his body collapsed motionless on the rubble. I stared at the body, vacant and still. There was another bang and time slowed down. Someone grabbed me so I lunged at them with a clenched fist and closed eyes. The pain across my knuckles woke me up. I’d punched a hole into the soft wall by my bed. I sat up and tried to regain control of my breathing. The red light of my OneBox stared into my eyes. “OneBox: alarm off.” I laid back down in the dark and waited for the sun to rise. After hours of struggling to get to sleep the sun finally rose... ... middle of paper ... .... A voluntary agent? “Yes, of course, sir. But didn’t you say I should try to avoid leaving the house?” “Without purpose.” Mr Fielding slowly got out of his seat, “going on meaningless walks is detrimental to health. It will give you undeserving stress. I’ve gathered enough evidence to come to the conclusion that you need reason. If you have a purpose to fill your mind then you won’t resort to bringing back all these horrible memories.” Mr Fielding moved over to the door and opened it for me, “so will you be accepting my offer?” “Of course, sir. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Mr Fielding smiled, “I’ll send you notes via the OneBox, on areas, events and people that you should try to investigate.” I wheeled up to the door and shook his hand, “Good luck, Logan.” “Thank you, sir.” When I rolled out of that office, I felt like a new man. An agent for the PLP.
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